


Missing Scene - More than flashbacks

by Ranmaru



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: 1x11, F/M, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 04:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18307985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranmaru/pseuds/Ranmaru
Summary: What the flashbacks didn't show.





	Missing Scene - More than flashbacks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/gifts).



> So after avoiding the show due to the Netflix icon that creeped me out (sorry?) I finally watched "The Magicians" and OF COURSE obsession followed. Blame Eliot (Hale Appleman). This is not only my first fic in this fandom but also the first real fic I've written in over a year. Be gentle.
> 
> This is also written in a bit of a different style than my norm, so I'm interested in knowing what y'all think. And...unless you know the show/characters, these will be faceless people since I barely have any real descriptions of what anyone looks like in here. Missing scene, so...y'know, gotta know the backstory to get it. Right? Right.
> 
> Funny enough, this was inspired less by the flashbacks and more by the firelight conversation before they go upstairs. I love that whole atmosphere. I want hours of deleted scenes material of those two talking by the fire drinking wine.
> 
> Unbeta'd.  
> 

*

Eliot isn’t asleep, but his mood has swung towards maudlin and he doesn’t want to face his friends so he remains on his side and lets out a snore that shouldn’t fool anyone but does. He thinks they’ll leave, but they don’t. He can feel the heat from Quentin’s body all along his back and it’s...nice. Eliot wants to lean into him, feel another body against him but if he does the game will be up. It’s not hard to stay still once he hears them softly talking. About him. About the spring. About how he’s not okay. He grips the sheet and squeezes his eyes shut, completely aware of needing to keep his breathing deep and even, focusing on it to keep from rolling over to reassure them that he’ll be fine. It would be a lie, but he’s willing to live that lie. He’s as close to the edge as he’s ever been and it’s all the more terrifying because he isn’t sure if he wants to pull back to safety. Does he even deserve it? Justified or not, Beast or not, he killed Mike. Not just another human being, but a man he’d pushed inside and kissed and shared-

When he hears Margo and Quentin kissing, it’s almost too much. He misses the way Mike tucked into his side, fitting perfectly. He misses his best friend, even though Margo is  _ right there _ . He wants Quentin suddenly and fiercely, his stomach in knots of shame and need. The mattress shakes and the warmth at his back disappears and he imagines Quentin holding himself over Margo, licks his lips and wonders how deep those kisses are going. The mattress moves again. They’re standing beside the bed, still kissing. When the obscenely sexy sounds fade he thinks it’s safe, and he rolls to his back. They aren’t gone. He curls one arm under his head, fingers tangled in his hair and watches.

Margot is helping Q out of his shirt. Eliot is aroused by the skin being revealed, but more by the confident way Quentin takes the shirt from Margo and drops it to the floor as he wraps an arm around her waist and leans down for an open mouthed kiss. Margo is uncharacteristically submissive for that kiss, her hands clutching Quentin's biceps and neck bending, vulnerability in the lines of her body curved against Quentin's. Vaguely, Eliot thinks it's his fault, this crack in her armor, but then Quentin raises his head and their eyes meet. Eliot's thoughts scatter.

“Hey,” Quentin says softly. Eliot opens his mouth but can't find the words, any words, but of course his Bambi rescues him. The curve of her back straightens and she’s once more in charge.

“Just lie back, El. Watch.” She has her back to him, and Quentin is still staring but then his eyes flutter closed when Margo tucks her face to his neck. Is she kissing? Biting? Sucking a bruise to that pale skin? Eliot hears Quentin's soft moan and almost echoes it, clenches his teeth and grips the sheets. It's hard to swallow. 

Quentin’s hands slip under Margo’s blouse, slowly raising the hem. His eyes are open again, flicking over to Eliot, not shyly, almost as though checking to make sure Eliot is still watching. Eliot catches his breath. Margo is sliding her hands down Quentin’s chest, but the movement is hampered by Quentin’s determination to get her blouse off. She leans back, face tilted up, and Eliot knows she’s smiling as she raises her arms. Her hair falls down in waves as Quentin rids her of one flimsy barrier, her black lacy bra still remaining. Gentle hands skim up her back before curving to the front and cupping her breasts. Eliot isn’t sure if he’s envious of those hands or her skin. It doesn’t matter.

They’re too far away.

It’s a process, getting an elbow underneath him so he can push up. The alcohol in his system is less of a problem than the emotional mire he’s desperately swimming through, but Eliot is nothing if not a master of wrangling his emotions, or is it strangling? Stuffing them down downdown into the sub-basement of the sub-basement of his mind.

Heart.

“I…” Eliot can’t find the words to tell them to come closer. They’re kissing again, hungrily. The wet sounds remind him of the last time he spent some quality time alone with his cock. Hand slick with lube, mind and body impatient for the release, one fucking moment to let go and stop thinking. He’s not hard, not yet, he’s had too much to drink to get it up without help. He doesn’t mean to make a sound, but it reverberates in his throat and his upward momentum is halted when one of Quentin’s hands lift off of Margo’s hip and one finger is raised towards him.

_ Wait. _

The room is warm, and Eliot only gets one arm free of his sweater before Quentin makes a noise and Eliot freezes. Margo’s husky laugh is barely heard over the thump of Eliot’s heart in his ears. “All in good time, El.”

Quentin’s eyes are wide, his lips shiny and red. He’s flushed, breathing hard and Eliot is caught in his gaze, begins breathing with him. “Wait,” Quentin whispers. “I want to-”

“Please,” Eliot says, hoping like hell Quentin and Margo hear the desperation that is making him sweat. The scarf tied loosely around his neck is oddly constricting, but he wants Margo to unknot it while Quentin-

“Fuck!” Quentin’s knees almost give out when Margo cups his dick through his jeans. He wobbles towards the bed and Eliot sees a flash of Margo’s sly smile before he has Quentin close enough. He reaches out, touches the overwarm skin on Quentin’s stomach and loses his breath when the muscles under his hand tighten.

“He’s so hard, El.” Margo’s hand is moving very slowly, less a caress than a massage and Quentin is staring at the ceiling, one hand fisted in Margo’s hair, the other covering Eliot’s as if to make sure he doesn’t pull away. 

“Margo, Margo stop. Just-” Quentin’s panting, and Eliot is almost disappointed when Margo moves away with narrowed, assessing eyes that widen before Quentin turns and gets a knee on the edge of the bed by Eliot’s hip. Eliot swallows hard. “This okay?” Quentin says as he balances above Eliot, brings his other knee up, straddling Eliot’s thighs. Eliot nods and it’s as though gravity has reversed and he’s sitting up, pulled to Quentin whose busy hands get his scarf unknotted and tossed to the side, gets the first four buttons of his shirt undone. He slides his hand over Quentin’s shoulder, the muscles firm and smooth, and looks up at the face of his friend. This is a moment. He could say no or stop and he knows Quentin would do it immediately. (Later, when Eliot thinks back and realizes he never once gave a thought to Alice, he hates himself for it.) This isn’t a rebound fuck, murderers don’t get that kind of second chance, but those beautiful eyes are looking at him like he’s not tainted by blood twice over, like he’s worth something and Eliot can either cry or kiss him.

Before he can brave that mouth, he licks one of Quentin’s pale pink nipples and is rewarded with a gasp and the fingers that had been playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck fall away when he raises his head, turning his face up to the sun. Quentin is ready for him, leaning down and in, mouth open and eager. The angle isn’t quite right, their noses bump hard. It doesn’t matter. Eliot wraps a hand around the back of Quentin’s neck and Quentin gets the hint, tilting his head just right.

It’s so good.

A gentle hand cups his head, thumb brushing over the shell of his ear, another slides along his jaw, and he pushes up, wanting deeper, hearing himself make a sound that is too needy. “Oh El,” he hears distantly, and a smaller hand is rubbing circles low on his back. Eliot blindly reaches for Margo and then they’re kissing and it’s comfort, love. Quentin is restlessly moving his hips. Eliot grips the back of his thigh and tugs encouragingly. Margo pulls away just as Quentin shifts forward and oh fuck right there presses the hard line of his cock to Eliot’s.

“Bambi,” he gasps and they’re kissing again. It’s grounding. He wants to throw Quentin down and take him, fuck him, suck him, crawl inside of him and sleep for a year. The taste of Margo keeps him in check. He can smell her arousal, his own, and something else that makes his head spin. He wants that new smell to seep into his skin.

Margo playfully bites his lip to end the kiss, sliding off the bed like her limbs are weighted. She’s aware of two sets of eyes watching her as she takes off her bra and pushes down her pants and panties in one go. She’s glorious naked and she knows it. Eliot sighs and closes his eyes, lets his hands wander the new landscape of Quentin’s stomach and chest. When hands cover his, one hand raised high, he looks up. Quentin licks his lips, opens his mouth and ducks down to kiss Eliot’s knuckles, lick them. Eliot spreads his fingers and holds his breath, letting it out on a moan when Quentin takes his index finger in his mouth, licks the pad, sucks hard, and slides off.

Eliot is lost.

Had he been standing he’d have thrown himself at Quentin, but all he can do is grab his hair and yank him down. Grip his hips and grind up. He’s hard, he wants to get out of his pants but he doesn’t want Quentin to move any farther than the few inches he’s using to rut against him.

“I want him to eat me out,” Margot whispers next to his ear. Eliot shudders. Quentin moans around Eliot’s tongue. “But I want to watch him suck you off more.”

Eliot feels the world pause.

_ Yes. _

Quentin breaks the kiss to gasp, “Fuck, yes,” and scrambles to fumble with Eliot’s belt.

Eliot stares at Margo, waiting for...something, while his trapped cock is freed and the tailored trousers Margo had given him for his birthday are yanked down his hips. Quentin nearly falls off the bed in his zeal to get Eliot naked. Margo’s lips quirk. “Who’s the eager beaver?”

Quentin stills and for one horrible second Eliot is afraid the mood has been ruined, that Quentin has come to his senses because this is happening and Eliot isn’t sure he will ever be able to process it, but then Quentin says, “Wouldn’t that, kinda, apply more to women because of, uh, you know, their-”

“Take your pants off, Coldwater,” Margot instructs, and Eliot knows her trying to not laugh voice. He laughs for her and it feels strange. He knows they’re looking at him and he closes his eyes, presses the heels of his palms against his forehead. Margot pushes at his shoulder and somehow they get his sweater, vest and shirt off and tossed over the side of the bed. He falls to his back and Margo runs her hand over his chest and scratches through the hair. 

The first touch to his cock is less tentative than it should be, and Eliot opens his eyes expecting to see Margo’s hand but no. It’s too big, too knowing, and Eliot bites his tongue to counter the fierce rush of pleasure at seeing Quentin’s hand wrapped around him. “Jeez, Eliot,” Quentin mutters, staring at how much dick his hand isn’t covering. “Don’t expect me to take all that in one go.”

Before Eliot can respond, if he even could with visions of Quentin deepthroating him short-circuiting his brain, Margo scoffs, “Pussy.”

Quentin laughs, his breath a caress to the head of Eliot’s erection and he shivers. The urgency has been dialed back, and he lifts a hand to tuck that stubborn lock of hair behind Quentin’s ear. This is an absurd situation. How is this happening? Is it really happening? Will he wake up just before Quentin’s mouth touches him? Turning a beautiful dream into a cock-blocking nightmare? It’s no less than what he deserves.

“No, stop. Stop thinking,” Quentin says, face only inches from Eliot’s, filling his vision. “Let me-” He kisses Eliot, tongue swiping inside, staying a while. Eliot isn’t the first guy Quentin has been with not with the way he’s kissing Eliot’s mouth and stroking Eliot’s cock at the same time, no hesitation. He arches up into that hand and reaches for Margo.

“We need to re-situate,” she says softly. “I have a plan.”

“I love your plans.” Eliot moans when Quentin moves his mouth to Eliot’s neck. He feels Quentin laugh, two quick bursts of air against his skin. Laughter and sex are always his favorite combination.

The minute it takes to rearrange themselves so Eliot’s legs aren't hanging off the side of the bed is drawn out with languid touches and kisses. Eliot knows he won’t be fucking anyone tonight, not unless they ride him and don’t need him to do more than lay there and give directions. Quentin kisses a wet path down Eliot’s chest, fingers pinching his nipples simultaneously and Eliot knows the head of his dick is slick with precum. Margo takes his earlobe between her teeth at the same time Quentin licks a stripe up Eliot’s cock and he almost comes from just that.

“Oh, he looks so good.” Margo scoots up until she back his against the headboard, cool and casual while Eliot is clawing at the sheets and trying to keep his hips still while Quentin’s mouth slowly drives him insane. The sounds Quentin is making, the filthy wet pulls of his mouth and the moans like he’s the one getting head combined with the strong smell of Margo’s sex is almost too much for Eliot. He’s surrounded by the only two people he gives a shit about, their scents in the air, rubbed into Eliot’s skin and the sheets. Margo is trembling, one hand between her legs. He presses his face to Margo’s thigh and comes with her hand in his hair.

“Little warning next time,” Quentin says, and Eliot returns from wherever human brains go when they orgasm to see Quentin wiping his face on the sheet.

“Oopsies.” Eliot giggles, and nuzzles Margo’s leg. “Bambi, make it up to Q for me?”

“I plan to. “ Oh, that low rumble always makes Eliot tingle, but he’s already tingling, loose-limbed and riding that come-high while he watches Margo produce a condom and roll it down Quentin’s blood-flushed cock. Was that from going down on Eliot? What a heady thought.

Eliot rolls to his side and curls his arm over Margo’s head, fingers tangling with hers. Her other hand is guiding Quentin to where she needs him and they all groan when he sinks down, her legs coming up around his hips. Eliot holds Quentin’s hair when he swoops down to kiss Margo, his hips moving slowly, too slow for how hard he is. His arms are shaking.

Eliot slips his hand between them, gets his fingers drenched as he rubs her clit and knows she’s close by how hard she is, how she cries out and grips Eliot’s other hand. Quentin says Eliot’s name, curses, and begins fucking her in earnest. Eliot can’t watch him, doesn’t want to know what Quentin looks like when he comes because hearing it, that hitch in his breath, the bitten off sounds that hurt, god it fucking hurts.

Margo follows with a shout of “Fuck!” and Eliot doesn’t slow his fingers, only lets up on the pressure until she’s panting and twitching, wanting him to stop but not just yet. He knows she could come again, but he’s not sure he can help her with that. He feels how hot she is around Quentin’s cock, rubs a little at the latex and hides his smile against Margo’s hair when Quentin gasps. He feels Quentin slowly pull out, lets Margot trap his fingers when she squeezes her legs closed.

Quentin leaves the bed to get rid of the condom and Eliot wonders if he’ll pick up his clothes and leave, but then the mattress is dipping behind him as Quentin settles with a sigh. Eliot kisses Margo’s shoulder and she relaxes, practically melting into the bed with a satisfied smile. He kisses her forehead and turns over. Quentin is laying on his back, eyes closed. He’s not smiling but he looks...content. Eliot lays with his head on his arm watching him while Margo gets herself situated behind him, making him the little spoon. He expects she'll end up leaving to use the bathroom at some point soon, she usually does after sex, but he’s still watching Quentin when he feels her succumb to sleep.

Eliot slides his arm over Quentin’s hips. “Night, Q,” he whispers, wanting one last kiss but not wishing to wake up Margo by moving. It doesn’t matter, Quentin is already asleep. Eliot wonders what time it is… Someone should close the door...

  
*


End file.
